


Duty and Diligence

by GeekyRoleplayer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action, Adventures, Bad decisions probably, Coryphishit, Fluff, Frantic panic, M/M, Romance, fun times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-07 02:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12223617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekyRoleplayer/pseuds/GeekyRoleplayer
Summary: Mahvir was a simple hunter until an explosion turned his life upside down. He didn't want to be flung into this life, so let's see if this cautious man can take the heat. With peril, choas, political intrigue, and Romance. One man can only take so much,  eventually he will hit his boiling point, and it won't be pretty.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pre- Wicked eyes and Wicked hearts..
> 
> Will diverge from game-plot to create sub plots.
> 
>  
> 
> This is just an introductory, fluffy chapter for Dorian and the Inquisitor.

“Mahvir the Merciful,” he’d never grow accustomed to the title. With the way he sat upon his throne, in that Maker-forsaken hall. Eyes of the innocent and intrigued all lingering on him. On the choices he’s had to make. He was constantly reassured that he gave the most peaceful judgements.. but even without the death of the criminals brought before him.. He felt as if he was condemning them to a much worse fate. 

Who was he to judge those who did wrong? After all, everyone in the world has told a lie or broken an oath. He was but a simple hunter from the Free Marches. A dalish elf, who before the conclave had little reason to care for the well-being of human politics. Every fiber of him wanted to return to that life.. to the one where all he had to worry for was his family, and preserving their customs. It was a selfish thought in the long run, he knew. However he allowed himself to constantly hang onto the wish. As he would probably be dead before the Inquisition was through with him. 

The poor man was interrupted from his thoughts as a pair of booted feet made their way up his staircase. His light brown eyes gave a slow blink. As he realized that he’d allowed ink to drip and ruin the parchment he’d been using. ‘Wonderful’ he groveled inwardly, ‘Just another letter to rewrite before sending it off to Josephine.’ Pushing his task to the side, he hid his face in his calloused hands. Rough and war torn, they tugged at his tan skin.. as if he had grown uncomfortable in it. Really though, he was just trying to wake himself up. To look more alive before Dorian reached his room.

He’d know those footsteps anywhere. 

As the Necromancer brought himself up the last step, Mahvir offered him a smile. “Taking a break from the books?” The mage gave a simple roll of his eyes. “Varric said you hadn’t been down in a while, I thought I’d check on you.. bring you something to get the creative juices flowing.” It was then that the warrior noticed the bottle that was swaying from the other man’s hand. Something he probably snuffed out from Skyhold’s Cellar.  
“In that case, I hope you dropped some off in the Rotunda as well.. I have Solas working on the those translations, considering our hires couldn’t figure it out.” 

Dorian gave an amused huff, and sat the glass down on the desk. “Naturally, you know how much I love sharing.” Mahvir watched as his gaze drifted to the ruined letter. “Tough night then? If it eases your mind I asked him to play me in a game of chess.. he refused.”  
The inquisitor gave a short chuckle. “Best to let him work then.” 

The pair of them fell into silence then, as the mage turned on his heel. With a flick of his wrist the logs in the hearth began to crackle and burn. While he sought out the wine glasses they’d left on the mantle of the fireplace. He took his time bringing them back, as he soaked in the chamber’s interior design. His attention landing on the moral that rested on the upper wall of the room’s loft. “That’s my favorite part of this room.” Mahvir raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. Cramming his neck to peer over his shoulder. “Really? and here I thought these nightly visits of yours were to see me.” 

“You are rather marvelous to look at.” 

“Why do you like the painting?” 

Dorian let out a small huff, as he set the glass down with echoing clinks. Mahvir watched his hands, as they wrapped around the bottle. His lithe fingers gliding up the side to pull loose the cork. “It gives us a view of how all those little people in the courtyard see us.”  
“I suppose it does give the Inquisition a mighty persona.” The Inquisitor gratefully took the wine as it was offered to him. It’s crimson liquid causing his stomach to churn. Reminding him of the rogue mages they had needed to strike down the day before. Of their blood that had splattered across the overgrown grass of the hinterlands. Still he drank, if not for himself then to their memories. They had been a threat to those who did no wrong, but still.. they were merely people in the end. Undoubtedly afraid, and fighting for their lives. 

The mage perched himself on the edge of the desk, pushing back books and making himself more room. Mahvir caught the amused twitch of his lips when he noticed the copy of “Hard in Hightown” on top of the pile. “I see you’ve been doing some light reading yourself,” The Elf reached out and picked up the obstacles, disregarding them on the floor by his chair. “Why yes, something has to keep me sane.” Dorian puckered his bottom lip. Shimmying himself farther back onto the desk. “I thought that’s what my nightly visits were for.” The other man rolled his eyes and downed his drink in one go. The bitterly sweet aftertaste lingering on his tongue. “You really should take that day off.. just to enjoy a day to yourself.. Or maybe a few days. We could go anywhere..” The Inquisitor rid of the notion with a shake of his head. His chestnut locks sweeping into his face with the movement. “I can’t I’m needed here.. and tomorrow is..” 

“The exploration into the Fallow Mire.” Dorian intervened before his lover could finish.  
“Those Soldiers need us Dorian,” Mahvir implored, as he watched the Necromancer give a heavy sigh. “I know. We’ll save them, get drenched maybe even catch wind of a nice plague while we’re there! I’m not protesting.. but after that..” It was obvious he was trying really hard, so the warrior felt obligated to give in. “I’ll think about it, until then.. let’s drunkenly respond to some nobles. Create some scandals.” Dorian chuckled and twisted around to read what Mahvir had already written. “Oh I like how you started this.. Let’s have some fun with it.” 

The two men quickly plunged into the endeavor that would give poor Josephine a headache in the morning. However they spent a calm night together. Filled with tipsy laughter and messy kisses, not to mention the jokes made at the nobles they wrote to. These were just a simple few moments.. one’s fleeting that would also be hazy in the morning. Only the feeling would remain, as they marched into uncharted territory.


	2. { Chapter 2}

The Inquisition set out for the marshes at dawn.  
It was a long, and exhausting ride for both the mounts and the soldiers they carried. Mahvir could already hear the complaining from Dorian and Varric both, thankfully Blackwall was a much more modest companion.  

 

“Alright.” The Elf finally caved, his calloused hand  brushing back his wet strands of hair. It stuck to the sides of his face uncomfortably and he considered  putting it up into a  ponytail.  “We can stop for the night, Creators.  Here's to hoping this rain lets up soon.”  The mage of their party gave a slight scoff and dismounted his gelding with ease. “Finally, let us get these tents pitched then.”

 

Mahvir moved a few feet ahead to peer out into the land  beyond, he raised his left  hand and let the anchor be his guide in the growing darkness. The green light seeped into the  haze, showing abandoned houses in the distance, and a road that was already beginning to flood. “Make sure you put them up high, we don't want anyone drowning in their sleep.”

 

Leliana’s scouts who had been in the area a few days now noticed the oddly colored light glinting in the night’s gloom. They couldn't help but hope it was their leader, and went to investigate.

 

Lavellan didn't fight his  smile upon seeing the  kind Lace Harding making her way down a dryer path.  She waved to him, as her ginger locks stuck to the base of her head. “Thank you for coming, maybe you can solve this mess.” She took a step back so she could see the man more clearly, as he still sat upon his horse Hallen.  “Our patrols are being held hostage by Avvar.” She inclined her head, as if deciding to give the Dalish descendant more information.  “Barbarians from the mountains.”

 

He had known there was trouble with the soldiers, that they were being held hostage. Their kidnappers were new information to him, and considering his clan solemn left the Free Marches he was rather concerned about this information.  “What are they doing in the bog?”

 

Harding gave a nervous gulp and considered her next words carefully.  Mahvir watched as the thoughts danced in her eyes. “That's the thing. Their leader wants them to fight you.. because you're the Herald of Andraste.”   

 

The warrior slid from his saddle then, the wet ground beneath his feet spitting up water as his boots crunched the grass. His heart stopped for just a moment he was sure,  Herald of Andraste, he didn't even believe in the Maker.  ‘Who cares about that though.’  Of course the title would end up getting him into perilous trouble once again.   “I was hoping.. we could negotiate.”

 

The Dwarf didn't seem to catch onto his anxiousness and gave a small shrug. “I wouldn't count on it. These Avvar don't seem to value diplomacy.”  

The Elf sighed,  and tugged on the leather straps of his belt. He suddenly felt like he couldn't breath, and rather than blame it on an anxious mind, he would accuse Armor that had grown tighter with the rain.

Despite how little sense that accusation made.

 

“Thank you for the report.” He managed, after a few moments of tense silence.  She had most definitely caught onto his fear now. “Anytime Inquisitor, and don't worry.. you'll get our people back home safe and sound.” That was a statement yet to be made true, however both would cling to the hope. “Thank you Harding, watch our backs out there, will you?”   

The archer offered him an encouraging smile. “Always. See you head out early, before the weather takes a turn for the worse.”  

 

“It hasn't already?” Dorian scoffed from behind Mahvir. The man had waited for the the Dwarf to leave before making his presence known. “By the time we head home, we're all going to have a cold.”  The reluctant leader, gave a faint laugh. “Well, last night you claimed it would be the plague, so a cold is bearable.”  In fact, he had suffered a horrible one after his trek through the Frostbacks after his first encounter with Corypheus.  

His armor had been cracked, and he was covered in gashes. The smoke from the burning buildings had infected his lungs during the battle.  It was a miracle that he survived such a predicament. Needless to say he was no longer a fan of traveling in the snow, and always carried extra blankets with him when he was to be gone from Skyhold.    

“For you maybe, but I don't fair well with illness.”  Dorian pivoted on his heel then, kicking up loose dirt with the movement.  He started making his way towards the others, and it was clear his lover was meant to follow.  "Regardless, we can worry about illness tomorrow.  For now let's get some rest. We leave before dawn."

Mahvir was awoken by water sloshing  into his socks. He sat up abruptly, and Dorian let out a groan as his head had been dropped to the ground.  Not that the Warrior's shoulder had been any more comfortable. "I know you love your beauty sleep Dorian.. but I don't believe you can manifest gills with that magic of yours." His voice came out rough,  and he shook the Mage's shoulder with a gentle hand.  "I can do plenty with that magic of mine.. like coerce you into letting me rest."  He rumbled, and turned over so that he was staring the elf in the eye.  "Was that a threat Dorian?" Mahvir mused  playfully as he pushed himself to his feet and went in search of his pack, hoping some of his underclothes had remained dry. "Of course not dear. None would dare to threaten the great and powerful Herald of Andraste." 

The jab at his much disliked title brought silence to Mahvir. So instead of a retort he merely picked up the other bag of belongings and tossed it to the man still laying at his feet. Bundled within blankets that had began to soak at the edges. "Its still storming out there, so I recommend something warm.."  He continued to dig around in his bag until his hands wrapped around a satisfyingly soft wool, before he made his way outside. His bare feet sunk into the mud, and his nose crinkled with the dirt between his toes. 

During the time with his clan,  he did not go barefoot as his keeper and hunters did. He was equipped to guard, and to fight when needed. It wasn't the safest thing to go around leaving body parts unprotected. Lifting a foot he shook away the dirt that stuck to his heel before stalking towards the trunk that held his armor and other belongings that followed him to the field. His scowling, and impatient expression was taken into account by Blackwall, who had been happily tending to the amounts until his leader had awoken.  "You look a little worse for wear Mahvir.." He chides, pulling a rag out of a pouch on his belt. Attempting to dry out the inside of his helmet the best he could. "I was lucky enough to wake before a lake started to form in my tent.."   

"Compared to out here, i'll live." Was the hoarse  response given to the Warden, as the elf of their party sought his boots before plopping on top of the trunk to replace his old socks with the new ones.  Careful to slip them into his shoes, and not drench them more than the rain had already done.  "Where's Varric?" He questions aloud, noticing the author was absent along with the two soldiers who had traveled to the Mire with them.  His almond eyes drifting to where Dorian was making his way into the open. Hunkered down, and clasping his straps and gloves to his strikingly white robe.  An outfit to be envious of for sure, but one that would easily be ruined in this weather. He didn't go to join the rest of his party, but instead made his way to the potions table.  No one would be dying on his watch, he always made sure to restock their medical supplies in the mornings. 

Blackwall hummed, as if trying to remember exactly where it was the dwarf had gone. "I believe he said something about looking into those abandoned houses.. I wouldn't let him go alone so he took Jean  and Rosa."  Mahvir frowned, and began to dress in a hurry.  Fumbling with his armor so much that Dorian had to leave his current task to help him. "You're shaking," he eventually stated. Taking a gauntlet from his lover's hand to still his frantic movements. "What's wrong?" 

The Inquisitor shook his nerves away and formed an explanation. "I can't hear anything out there besides this damned rain.. There are hostile Avvar, and undoubtedly rifts.." 

As the others came to understand his worry,  the sound of feet sloshing through the flooded and mucky paths made all three men jump where they stood. Instantly the anchor flared,  and it's green essence allowed them an extra edge of sight within the gloom.  A familiar pale, and stricken face greeted them. "Inquisitor! Jean fell into the water!" The soldier, Rosa exclaimed between ragged breaths. "He awoke a whole hoard of undead!" She stopped before them, bending over and grasping her knees.  Her quiver was empty, and her bow hung over her shoulder carelessly.  "Sir Tethras sent me to fetch you! Please hurry!"  

Mahvir snatched back his gauntlet and put it on before bending back down to the trunk to pick up his sword. Blackwall was already darting down the path.  Dorian was making his way back to pick up the potions, stuffing them into the leather pouch clipped to his side.  The sound of clinking glass bottles  broke through the storm for just a moment before he too was running after the Warden. 

Rosa caught her breath, and went to restock on arrows.

While the Inquisitor was left to chase after his companions. The bright glow of the Necromancer's staff being his guide in the darkness before dawn. The now familiar  atmosphere of war bathed him as the sounds of clashing swords resonances with the clapping thunder. 


End file.
